How Harry Potter Became Hadrian Addams
by Polar Cenit
Summary: Rated M for Murder. And the making of it into an art, by artist number one, Wednesday Addams. Then artist number two, Harry Potter draws inspiration from Wednesday and created his own murder... with interesting consequences.
1. Chapter 1

A.N.: So, um, this is my first fic in years, and my second fic overall, so be kinda nice please? Though corrections are still appreciated. I know, I'm confusing, but that's ok, I confuse myself on a regular basis. I'm weird. I hope that whoever reads this actually enjoys it, but I do understand that I may have made some characters a bit OCC, so hopefully you'll forgive me for that too if it happens. I might do more if this is received well, but it is not currently in plans (unless you count my own mind). That said, please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own either the Addams family franchise or the Harry Potter novels. I am not winning any money from this (even though I wrote more on here than I'd have willingly written on any essay), and any similarities with other shows, books, or even real events are completely coincidental.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley knew a lot about freak incidents, freaks in general and, as Vernon Dursley so aptly described, "Freaky stuff." That said nothing had prepared the bulbous man for the scene spread in front of him. It was bad enough that his wife was in hysterics due to their son's death, but he was forced to look at the result. It wasn't a simple - or clean - murder, a fact anyone could tell by just looking before losing control of their stomachs.

Dudley Dursley's body was unrecognizable, his body used as a canvas for what appeared to be a painting. His skin had been torn off and stretched so as to create a stable surface on which to paint, and his blood had been drained and then stored in a can in order to use it as paint. What **really** struck Vernon wasn't the messiness or the blood, however, but rather the way Dudley's body had been used as a tool. Whoever the perpetrator was, they had clearly been toying with Dudley's suffering and had planned everything carefully.

"Who would do such a thing!" yelled Vernon in anger at the police officer as soon as his stomach stabilized. "I demand that you find the culprit!" Vernon had, in fact, been accused of many things, but being smart wasn't one of them. His emotions often ended in anger over whoever he blamed, and in this case the first person to blame was the policeman.

"I'm sorry, sir, but who are you again?" The policeman asked, used to these situations.

"I'm this boy's father, that's who I am! Please tell me you're not just standing around like a no good f-ool instead of catching the perpetrator!" Vernon replied, turning purple and stumbling over his words.

"Vernon Dursley? The Inspector would like to talk to you over there" replied the policeman, ignoring the man completely otherwise and pointing towards a man in the background.

Angry at being ignored, Mr. Dursley left immediately, not paying any attention to the little girl he accidentally pushed down in his hasted and angry walk. The policeman, however, did.

"Here, let me help you," the policeman said, "You should probably rejoin your parents. This is no place for little girls. What's your name?"

In a strange and emotionless tone, the girl answered "Is it not you who should leave instead? Art in its purest form can only be admired by those who know. Either way, that's alright, I'm done here. Pugsley should be nearby."

With those strange parting words, the girl left, leaving a stunned policeman behind. A policeman who would not realize till much later that the girl had not given a name, nor had she elaborated on what he supposedly needed to know. Even then, he would chalk it up to kids being kids.

Wednesday Addams was not happy. Her brother, Pugsley, was not where he was supposed to be, she couldn't finish her artwork, and worst still, she didn't know who it was that had been watching her. She had been happy the night before, even when the stupid boy had tried to hit her, smiling in anticipation as it had been just as she was feeling the call of the night, a call that most Addams felt at least once a week. Usually, that would have been taken care of normally in America, but Grandmamma's quest took longer than anticipated, and so a prey had to be found.

A Perfect Target the boy had been, once his support and security was gone. Pugsley had taken good care of the coward's friends, and even now it would be days before the police found the results, despite the messiness of it. It was Pugsley's particular brand of art, she supposed, derived from Uncle Fester's and Gomez Addams' love of explosives and, of course, explosions. But it was an art she personally didn't find any appeal in. She much preferred her mother's way of doing things, either subtle and effective, or showy and artistic. The main element it had to have, however, was the power of instilling fear in whoever saw her designs. Thus, due to the boy's character, Wednesday had chosen to do the second option, for it seemed fitting for him to die slowly and painfully, and in public. After all, he had attempted to hurt her, and he had to feel the consequences of that. With magic, it hadn't been too hard to set it all up, just like her family had taught her. Despite being 10 years old, Wednesday was a genius, a genius that knew art, at that. And what a beautiful sight it had all created! Well, before her interruption.

There started Wednesday's problems. The Addams family, while eccentric, was very careful in how they dealt with others. Oh, they had been accused over time of many things, but Gomez Addams, the family's head and Wednesday's father, always stepped in as a lawyer. Despite having the biggest losing streak any lawyer had ever seen, Gomez always managed to win much more in a particular case than what the results showed. In fact, the end result usually became the total destruction and suffering of the one who dared attack them, a "vacation" for the Addams family parents in the prison of their choice (the equivalent of a five star hotel in their views), and a rather notable increase in the family gold. Of course, part of this success relied on the more serious crimes leaving no witnesses alive, and yet, Wednesday had let someone see her art and escape.

She didn't know how she had missed their presence, or why it took so long for her to realize it, for she was always very careful, but she did know she had to take care of this problem. Whoever it was had used magic, and that would be the clue that would lead her to them. Magic, after all, left an imprint behind, an imprint that she knew exactly how to follow. With any luck, she would also find the one they came looking for in the process.

"WHAT?!" shrieked Petunia Dursley in her shrill and ear-piercing voice. Vernon Dursley had just come back, still shell shocked and muttering about incompetence.

"You mean there's nothing they can do? Our Duddy just got… butchered, like an animal, and they are not going to do a single thing?" Petunia cried.

"I am just as angry as you, Pet, but the facts are facts. They don't even have a lead on, and they can't even find Dudley's friends. Their hands are tied. Normal and honest folk couldn't have done this. I bet, however, that it has to do with those… freaks. Nothing this unnatural would happen if they didn't exist." Vernon's anger, unable to stay with the police, had shifted targets.

Petunia stared at him, the few remaining gears in her head turning and leading to a single – and erroneous – conclusion. "It's that little bastard's fault, isn't it? Strange things have happened ever since he came. He attracts danger, weirdness, and freakiness. It's his entire fault, it must be!"

"Now Pet, be careful. Of course it is, but we have to be careful. Think about what the neighbors…"

"I DON'T CARE! They're already looking at us because of… because of…" Petunia couldn't speak out a reality she hadn't accepted, and letting out a sob instead. "I just want him gone, Vernon. I want him dead."

"Alright, alright. I'll do anything for you, Pet, you know that. And the bastard does deserve it, he's the one at fault. I'll take care of him; tonight. Don't worry."

With that, Petunia allowed herself to cry in despair, shifting the sadness she felt into anger at her nephew. If all went well, he would be dead, avenging her dear Dudleykins, and a new life would start, so that at least this wouldn't happen again.

Unknown to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, however, their nephew had heard everything they had said. Despite the Dursley's family best efforts, little Harry Potter had realized early on that he had something the family didn't. Magic.

Given many chores (even at age six), he had accidentally found himself projecting his magic in ways that would help him in those different tasks, enhancing his senses, and allowing him to escape from his cousin. Maybe it was his inner nature, maybe it developed because of the abuse he had suffered under his supposed family, or maybe it involved some other factors, but Harry had soon developed a hatred and bloodthirstiness rarely seen in children that age once he understood the cause for his abuse. Why should he be hated for something outside his control? It didn't make sense to six-years-old Harry.

So he secretly practiced with his magic, unfortunately only really getting it to enhance his senses (unless accidental), turn him invisible, and increasing his healing rate. The problem was, Harry had no real way of releasing the anger that consumed him early on. While death was definitely present in his mind (thanks, in part, due to his aunt and uncle who would constantly remind him of his parent's death), but the idea of causing it hadn't really crossed Harry's mind. That is, until he saw HER on his tenth birthday.

Harry had never really thought of blood as being beautiful, before, especially considering most of the blood spilled was his own, but that night changed everything for him. He had been running away from Dudley when he spotted a girl his age. Catching his breath, he waited a few meters away from her, invisible.

"Hey, YOU!" screamed one of Dudley's less than brilliant followers, "you better answer me or else! You seen an ugly dwarf with messy hair running around?"

Harry watched fascinated as the girl didn't even blink as a meaty fist was waved in front of her. Dudley, behind the rest, narrowed his eyes. A younger looking girl, not afraid of him? That would not do. This was his domain! Signaling to the others, two of his supposed underlings grabbed each of the girl's arms. Still, she did not blink and, if anything, did smile a fraction.

Then suddenly, a younger kid arrived, wearing a black and white striped sweater. He seemed to be having fun, genuinely smiling. Harry perceived, however, a small twinkle in his eye, the kind that only schemers really get.

"Hey, I'm Pugsley!" The boy said, out of politeness— a trait fully ingrained by his mother, of course.

"I don't care what your name is! Just tell us if you've seen the Freak" said Dudley's number one fan, Pier Polkiss.

"I wasn't aware you knew Great Uncle Freak" finally uttered the girl, tonelessly.

"Who? Whatever, just tell us if you've seen anyone go through here."

"I have," said Pugsley, with a huge smile. "Come this way!" he led them.

Shrugging, the group headed to where Pugsley was going, letting go of the girl. By the time they realized Dudley wasn't behind them, it was too late.

Harry, still invisible and near the girl, noticed that his cousin seemed unable to move. Could it be…? Another power user? His thoughts were confirmed when the girl merely clapped her hands, and Dudley was forced up, levitating in the sky with a look of terror. So he wasn't alone then… About to reveal himself, Harry was glad that he had waited once he saw the girl in action.

He watched as the girl tortured his cousin, he watched as she peeled and stretched the skin, and he watched as she used Dudley's blood to paint. He watched breathlessly, fascinated, even scared, until his wretched watch alarm rang, at which point he started running, getting back to the house as fast as possible.

Once assured he hadn't been followed, and that he hadn't awoken his relatives, he checked himself and his reactions out. He was shivering, and whether it was from fear, or excitement, or both, he did not know. He was smiling, and he couldn't help but place his smile as demented, quite off on a child's face. He was imagining it all over again, except that this time it was him doing it. No, actually, it was them, together, doing it. It was art, in his mind. It was like having watched the artist paint a masterpiece. He wanted to, no, needed to be like that!

"Why?" he whispered to himself, out loud. Why was this his reaction? Harry Potter may have been fairly young, but he did understand the concepts of normal behavior. How could he not, with relatives like his? Was there something wrong with him? In the end, Harry resolved to sleep and do the next day's chores like normal.

Except, the next day was very different for Harry. He couldn't help but visualize, at first, the same happening to his aunt. Then, he couldn't help but see it as him doing it to his aunt. Finally, he couldn't help but visualize a completely new way of doing this art, of painting on a canvass, a way that was purely Harry's. The seed was planted.

Thus, when Petunia and Vernon learned the news (and didn't Harry get delightful shivers down his spine as his enhanced ears heard everything), and when Vernon returned and promised to kill Harry, Harry decided to do his very recent but also very vivid dream a reality. He decided to kill them before they killed him, to survive, and to do so artfully.

Having been forced to do the gardening and the cleaning, Harry already had access to all sorts of poisons. Not knowing which to use, and not understanding what each would do, he decided to just mix them all together, then attempted to mix it with everything he prepared in the kitchen. Clumsy, yes, and normally Petunia, at least, would've noticed, but her state of mind wasn't quite there on that day, luckily for Harry, and both her and Vernon ingested a decent amount of poison. Now Harry's canvass was set, and his mind screamed in delight, realizing his artistic self, his murderous self, as years of hatred poured out.

Taking a kitchen knife, Harry cut them right on the spot. His abilities didn't give him the same freedom as the girl's had, not enhancing his strength enough to be able move whales and horses like Vernon and Petunia around, but they did allow him to carve the knife deeper in their bodies than he would've been able to do otherwise. And thus, he began carving shapes, images, and anything he could think of to complete his masterpiece. Once he was done, though unsatisfied still, he almost put the knife down before he felt one pointed at his back.

Surprised, he let the knife drop to the floor and spun around quickly, only to come face to face with the girl from the night.

Wednesday had followed the magic's tracks to a boring neighborhood, on that was obviously lacking in imagination, if the same houses and gardens were of any indication. Her own magic, however, screamed in delight, having sensed blood before even Wednesday's nose could. Sneaking into the house, Wednesday witnessed an unexpected, though welcome, sight. A murder in action, and, if her magic told her right, a first murder at that, the most exhilarating of them all.

The boy creating the murder seemed to be her age, attractively skeletal, and with skin pallor that Wednesday knew her mother would envy. His blood red lips appeared to be natural, but the amount of blood in the area made her withhold her judgment in that area. More importantly, however, while obviously a novice, the boy was clearly trying to do more than just kill. He was watching the dead bodies just as she had been watching the one the night before. He was carving just as she had been painting. Seeing the boy about done, and thus seeing the spectacle coming to an end she pointed her own knife at his back, and felt him turn, startled.

"Wh- YOU!" screamed the boy, seeing her.

"I take it you saw me," Wednesday stated simply. In her mind however, cogs were rotating and she put two and two together, Grandmamma's quest, the two murders, and the boy's vivid green eyes, unseen before by her.

"Um… maybe?" the boy replied, seeming unsure of his answer.

"I wasn't asking."

"Well, oh."

"I do have to mention my appreciation of your work, however." She stated, carefully watching his reaction. It could still be someone else, after all.

"I… I don't… I've never… It's my first time." The boy shuffled his feet. "To be frank, I don't know where it's coming from. I never had the urge till… yesterday."

"I see." And Wednesday stared at the boy, smirking for the pieces fit together, as the boy stared at her back, waiting for her to act.

It was in this position that Gomez Addams, father of Wednesday Addams and head of the Addams family found them once he had finally managed to track down his daughter.

"Aaah, Wednesday!" he said in a most cheerful tone, "I see you're making new friends in the area."

"Father, this is the one." Wednesday expressed to him, as the boy kept quiet, stunned, but also observing.

"This is the one what? The one that got away? The one that killed Great Aunt Acidica? The one postman that traveled in time with us and was lost? The one…" Gomez listed.

"Father," his daughter interrupted, "The one that got away and the one that Grandmamma mentioned from her crystal ball two weeks ago."

"AH! Yes, I see, that does indeed make sense," Gomez looked around. "Tell me, my boy, how would you like to be an Addams?"

"What, um, what does that mean exactly?" carefully asked the boy.

"It means you will be getting the best family in the world, us!" said a youthful voice from the chimney. Pugsley and Morticia had arrived.

"Oh my, this must be him, I'm guessing?" commented Morticia, her mind quick to catch up after seeing the state of the room, the bodies, and the stare Wednesday was giving the boy, "It would be so lovely if it was. He would fit right in with us, no problems."

"I would have a family? A real family? And why do you keep asking if it's me? And you don't mind, well… this?" asked the boy, looking confused, hopeful, and guarded, pointing at the bodies.

A pleasant and warm laugh resonated in the room as Gomez went right up to the boy and started talking. "Our family has many gifts, gifts that have assured our survival. One of them is divination. Let's just say that an interesting description was given to us about someone we should see in England and bring back with us. And as for this," he gestured towards the corpses, "this is art. This is what my family prides itself on, and what we build our strength on. The blood of our enemies."

The boy seemed to consider, and then said, "I will go with you." He did think it was all very strange, but his newfound instincts, part of his senses, screamed inside him in approval, and those instincts hadn't let him down yet.

"Wonderful! Oh Gomez, Mon Chèr! The house will be so lively with another kid in the house! Imagine" Morticia spoke up, having let her husband do the convincing, trusting his skills. Still, perhaps she would later mention to the new family addition that he might be Wednesday's husband, should everything go right.

"Querida! That's French!" Gomez started wildly kissing Morticia's arm in front of the bewildered soon to be Hadrian Addams.

"Well, that settles it. You're now officially part of the family. I can't wait to introduce you to Uncle Fester, grandmamma, and everyone else!" Pugsley's words were the last words the boy heard right before he felt a tugging sensation and his world went black.

It would be a very long time before the Wizarding World would discover what happened to their savior. It would be even longer before Hadrian Addams would finally be forced to return to Britain so as to participate in the Triwizard tournament. And the Wizarding World would not be ready for the outcome.


	2. Of Light Lords and Dark Lords

A.N.: Right. So, the characters were hard to do, since they tend to change by series. Trust me, I've gone through the first tv series, the Halloween special, the second tv series, the animated series, the three movies, and even the Grownup Wednesday Addams webisodes. But yeah. Hopefully you will like. As for whether I own either Harry Potter or the Addams Family… well, I'm still not rich. And I don't live in England. Which I would be, were I J.K. Rowling.

Gellert Grindelwald was not a happy man. He had been, 14 years ago. Before it became fourteen years of failure. Before he managed to lose track of the Potter heir, deal a huge blow to "his" reputation, and somehow lose track of the Dark Pretender, Lord Voldemort. All of this, after years and years of intense planning, trickery, and manipulation. For Darkness' sake, he had even tricked his former lover into switching places with him when the conquest of Europe turned sour. Why was it that everything was going wrong now?

"Headmaster," he heard from the entrance. "The Minister is here to see you about the Tournament." Severus Snape stood at the entrance, tall, and sneer in place.

"The Tournament… right." Grindelwald frowned. After his reputation had taken a hit from the Potter brat's disappearance, the minister of magic had struck; he had looked for power like a leech looked for blood to suck. Minister Fudge had taken the opportunity to expand his influence at Hogwarts, an influence that Grindelwald resented greatly. As headmaster, he used to have so much power. The power to influence young and impressionable minds, the power to influence the ministry and its laws through former students, and the power to operate under the mantle of a Lord of Light, were all powers he had manipulated the world for, and then he had lost it after one mistake. Influence or not, however, he could still operate in the shadows and manipulate the situation. While he had, at first, been against the tournament, The Goblet soon became the key for his new plans. With that in mind, a benign smile settled on his face as he made sign for Snape to open the door. "Hello Minister!"

"Dumbledore! I have stupendous news!" Fudge said, excitedly pushing Snape into the nearest bookcase, "We just received word from the foreign schools! Durmstrang and Beauxtiroir have agreed!"

"Wonderful, wonderful! Though I believe you mean Beauxbatons. Lemondrops?" exclaimed 'Dumbledore,' signaling towards a seat once a negative response was given. "Let's talk about the trials and rules then, shall we?"

"Honestly, Hadrian, I'm disappointed. Such a pitiful attempt at killing me… Aren't I worth more in your eyes?" Wednesday Addams stared down at her fiancé, glee apparent in her usually emotionless eyes. The mentioned boy was, after all, currently chained to the floor, attempting to escape her knives. "I do give you points for modifying my coffin, though. I didn't think what your research into modifying electric chairs would lead to. It is deliciously torturous to sleep now."

"Glad you enjoyed it, ma chère. It was your birthday present after all." Wednesday dropped her knife, startled by the voice whispering in her ear. "You really ought to learn how to differentiate between me and my temporary clones, however."

"But, querido, every time I kill one of you, I cannot help but shiver in delight. Blood suits you extremely well."

"And as beautifully cold as I find you when you're in a murderous mood, it does make it less fun when you're so easy to surprise and capture. Après tout, half the thrill is the hunt" Hadrian said, poisonous green eyes shining in delight.

"How right you are, dear Hadrian," commented Wednesday before smoothly getting out of his grasp and pressing a knife to his throat. "Though you are guilty of the same," she whispered darkly into his ear.

"And perhaps, it is not that we get caught easily, but merely that we want the other to catch us?" whispered Harry, just as low, blood red lips formed into a cruel smile.

Intently looking at each other in the eye, it seemed as if the background noises faded, and all that existed were each other. Murder was in their very being, and the pleasure of death and the other drove them wild with want, a want for the sweet mix of pleasure and pain. Many would have died at the other's hands, but these two were familiar, and they drove each other to new heights. They brought out the passion by bringing in their own, and they kept it going by constantly competing, striking the other when most convenient, judging skills, and constantly dancing on the line between life and death. It was a contest of wills, of passion, of thrills, and, as the two had known for a long time, of love. The blood of the other drove them wilder than any other could, and seeing their lover in action was pure pleasure. Wednesday could not get enough of Hadrian's sweet, _sweet_ , smile, just as she couldn't get enough of his murders, both considered the highest form of beauty by her… until she one-upped him on a killing spree, of course. Hadrian, on the other hand, couldn't get enough of Wednesday's brilliant eyes, just as much as the thought of her driving their little _art_ competition even further, dipping it in a mix of cruelty and passion, drove him to new levels of love and excitement.

However, while their competition became their foreplay, it was the exquisitely beautiful products of their competition, when they joined forces and united their desires for bloody art and dark magic, which fulfilled them and their love, as many unfortunate neighbors and postmen found out.

"Children, where's Pugsley?" The melodious voice of Morticia Addams broke their moment, as they were forced to separate and look at their mother. "I haven't heard his delightful explosions all day long." Morticia tilted hear head in a strikingly elegant fashion, elegance that Hadrian envied and copied.

"Mother, you know Pugsley's been exploring other areas of Chaos since Uncle Fester decided to visit the moon," stated Wednesday, "as he doesn't believe it is the same without dear Uncle Fester."

"Because of this, Father decided to let him explore the family. Pugsley left late yesterday night while it was still beautifully storming outside," explained Hadrian.

"Oh?" Morticia's red lips widened into a smile. "Where has he gone, then?"

"You know Uncle Drowning, the one that visited us on Samhain with that nice Mr. Dementor?" asked Hadrian.

"This is wonderful news! Uncle Drowning is such a lovely man. Every time I see him I feel the wonderful deepness of despair." commented Morticia, a tear in the eye. "We shall have to invite him over as thanks for taking care of our dear Pugsley."

"That said, Grandmamma has prepared some explosive potions, if you feel like playing with them. We tested one yesterday on the Thomas' house. While they lacked certain finesse, the amount of destruction made up for it," stated Hadrian.

"The Thomas Family? Is that why that nice detective was here yesterday? He seemed oddly pressured to leave, so I didn't quite get the reason for his visit. Pity, Cleopatra seemed to like him." pleasantly replied Morticia.

While Morticia wasn't one to hate others, despite appreciating the delicious feeling whenever she did, that particular family had at least reached the unpleasant levels. The Thomas family had, after all, been rather annoying, in recent times. Particularly the eldest son, Dean, who seemed to believe that trying to force himself on Wednesday would be easy. This came from the unfounded belief that no one would care what happened to, as he said, "the creepy girl that no one likes," and that she should be grateful for his attention. While Wednesday wished to deal with him personally, Hadrian convinced her to take it slow, first getting rid of his family. They had to enjoy it for as long as possible, after all.

"I believe he mentioned something about running. Maybe he had a marathon?" Hadrian questioned. "In either case, I do believe the explosion destroyed anything useful. Grandmamma's concoctions are very thorough."

"You would have enjoyed seeing it first hand, however, Mother. Perhaps we can show you later in the Family Pensieve?" Wednesday monotonously asked, despite it being apparent to all that knew her that she just very much wanted to watch herself and Hadrian at work.

It had, in fact, all been rather beautiful, thought Hadrian.

First had been the mother. As she had constantly belittled the Addams, her poisonous tongue had been cut. This was soon followed by the legs and arms, legs and arms later positioned on the side to form a frame around the rest of the body. She died from blood loss, blood painting the background in a bright red that regretfully turned to brown before the explosion.

Then there had been the father. He had been trickier, having lived 12 years near the Addams, which had taught him the meaning of the word careful. Unfortunately, Morticia had made them promise to not use magic when dealing with No-Maj people as it made it all less fun. Magic would make it too easy, and less thrilling. So it was for him that the explosive potion had been set off once he saw his wife's body. The rest of the family were all in different boarding schools, so Wednesday and Hadrian would have to wait for them. Dean would be dealt with quite extensively and magically once he returned from his boarding school; Hadrian would make sure of that. While Wednesday would deal the final blow, he would be the one to torture Dean into begging for his life. He couldn't wait.

Before Morticia could answer, a noise was heard from outside the room.

"Lurch! Where are the children? I have their letters!" Gomez Addams' cheery voice exclaimed.

"euhrrr" answered the mentioned Lurch in a deep and low tone, presumably pointing towards the room.

"Father, I was unaware there were any schools left in the Americas that we hadn't been expulsed from yet" commented Hadrian, once Gomez entered the room.

"You said it! You haven't explored the African, European, and Asian schools. Imagine, you could be the first Addams to not only be expulsed from all magic schools in one continent, minor and important ones, but also the first in more than one!" The Addams Family Head replied, bristling with joyous glee, unnerving smile shining through. "Now, which continent? It is your choice, children"

"Europe. Aunt Báthory has been screaming all over about war and blood in Europe. Those rumors are… interesting." Wednesday smiled, her sadistic side showing up as glee shined in her eyes, thinking about the possible bloodshed they would witness. Hadrian, sensing her thoughts, shivered as his eyes darkened in want.

"C'est fantastique, ça!" Exclaimed Morticia.

"Trish! That's French!" As wild passion took over his being, Gomez started laying kisses on his wife's arms and neck, only stopping to let his wife talk.

"Now, let's decide between Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts, shall we?"

Karkaroff could claim to be many things. He was a branded coward, a traitor, a follower of the Dark, and even a sadistic killer. What he wasn't, however, was stupid. So when he received a letter of enrollment for two children, one signed by the Addams family, he blanched.

The Addams family, while unknown by many of the Light, was infamous amongst those of the Dark. The Light had, in history, often judged them as simply a weird family with a fondness for the unusual. Those of the Dark, however, could sense so much more in them. They could sense the madness, the cruelty, the passion; and their very being thrived whenever an Addams was near. The Addams were known for their extremely dark auras, due to their very strong connection to the Dark, and any other Dark believer around them was instantly attracted, often submitting to them without a thought. It had happened to Karkaroff, the first and only time he met one of them. He had kneeled, drinking in the addictive Dark, and had done everything in his power to remain near that particular Addams.

The problem was, he had remained near one. Enough to see him in action. Enough to see how they dealt with people. Enough to see that it was their way or no way. Afterwards, Lord Voldemort had been mere child play. So seeing two of them trying to enter his school warned Karkaroff that things would change. His school would not, in fact, be his for much longer. And he would soon be, once again, under the power of an Addams.

Karkaroff shivered once the last thought came about. Whether it was due to fear or pleasure, he could not tell. It was most likely a mix of both. Taking one more look at the paper in his hands, he left the office to warn his teachers and make preparations. All things considered, Durmstrang would probably be better off than the other schools; Hogwarts and Beauxbatons were definitely not ready.

Far away, in a cave conveniently hidden by magic from others, one lonely seer gasped after looking up at the sky.

"The stars have set themselves… Events are starting. I fear for the light, but balance will be restored; I fear for the dark, but the Pretender and the Manipulator will be taken care of, bitten by their own plans. Magic is finally reacting, and the Light and Dark forces are taking their revenge onto the World. Enemies, beware." She croaked, gasping once more before dying.

It had not been a prophecy, but a statement by Fate. Rarer than prophecies, they tended to come when the Elements themselves got involved. Unfortunately for the World, no one but the magical non-humans heard, and they had been ready for a very long time.

In a darkened room, a circle made up of masked people was formed. The leader sighed, for the topic of the conversation was going to be heavy. It could be what would distinguish them as traitors towards the one they had followed.

"He is no Dark Lord. I can't sense the aura of one as described by our parents. I do not yearn to please him, I do not take pleasure in his praises, and I do not truly follow him from the bottom of my heart. I merely follow out of fear and because he seemed to uphold our ideals. I was a fool, and believed him to be a True Dark Lord, but we cannot deny the truth anymore!" passionately declared the figure in the middle, the very one that had orchestrated this meeting.

"That may be, but we have sworn ourselves to him. And there doesn't seem to be any one else calling themselves a dark lord," answered a tall figure from the right, standing up to talk with the meeting's leader.

"You know it takes a while for a prospective Dark Lord to grow. He or She could still be growing. Or they could even be in another country. Britain is not, in fact, the center of the World," answered the first.

That statement roused the rest, as mutterings went around the room.

"Magical Britain is the center of the New Conflict, however. Magic has recognized this. So it makes sense to assume that the Lords will, eventually, all be gathered here," cried one out.

"There is no True Light Lord either, as much as Dumbledore likes to pretend to be one, so it may be that both Lords are still growing. I have my suspicions that Harry Potter, despite being missing, might be the Light one. If so, then the Triwizard Tournament might be a good source of information for us." Still standing, the tall one gathered his thoughts.

"True, although I personally wager that Harry Potter could possibly be the Dark one. His victory could be that of a …" he started, before being cut off by the leader.

"We are forgetting that his survival of the Avada Kedavra does not, in fact, signal that he is a Lord. While inexplicable right now, it may just be luck. He may even be dead right now. Nevertheless, I suggest we look for signals during the Tournament. It is the only thing we can do right now."

"We have a plan, then?"

"Yes, we do."

It had been done. People were screaming in terror, running away from hooded figures. Pity none of them knew that they had unleashed, by accident, one of the most sadistic followers of Lord Voldemort.

Barty Crouch Junior was finally free. It had taken a very long time, but he was free. And all it had taken was a stupid wizard, the Quidditch World Cup, and the chaos formed by the traitors to his Master. They had their fun, but he knew he had scared them by summoning the dark mark in the sky.

Now, he just needed to find his Master. And maybe a wand that actually suited him. He wondered what had happened in the years he'd been a prisoner to his father. Oh, would he get the information. And he would have fun getting it all out of him.


	3. A Very Addams World

A.N. Same warnings as the last two times… Sorry for the delay. I was going to publish it earlier, but then I got sidetracked with the new information on Pottermore and the new Sorting…. So yeah. If you see any mistakes, please tell me, I'll try to correct it. Hope you enjoy!

A Very Addams World

Hadrian Addams sudden appearance was an enigma to those who knew of the family's existence.

While no one questioned the actions of the Addams Family to their face, the mystery of Hadrian left many wondering. Where did they get him from? Was he to be treated like a true Addams? Was he even Dark enough for the role? What did this mean for the future? Would he, and not Pugsley Addams, be the next Head?

Many were unsettled with this new and unknown variable in their plans. Others felt frustrated, having been certain that the next Head of Family would be the easy-to-manipulate boy they saw in Pugsley. The boy had been their ticket into the high society of Dark Wizards, they thought, but their plans just didn't seem feasible anymore.

The Addams family was, after all, an icon in that world. So why the new boy? What was special about him?

The smart ones left the issue alone, correctly deciding that the Addams Head of the Family hadn't, actually, added young Hadrian on a whim.

In the first place, most of these had correctly predicted that Wednesday Addams, and not Pugsley, would be the successor. Considering what they knew about the girl, manipulating that family was very far from their minds.

Others, however, acted rashly, attempting to fit the new boy into the mold they had created for Pugsley.

One such person was Lucius Malfoy. Lucius, although considered smart in many areas, made what was to become the biggest mistake of his life. He believed Hadrian to be the family's weak point. This boy, Lucius persisted in believing, was not an actual Addams, and thus would be safe to exploit. It was even better than having to manipulate Pugsley Addams.

This belief would directly lead to his end.

His son, Draco, witnessed the events that followed Lucius' decision to take control of Hadrian Addams. Afterwards he never spoke to anyone what he witnessed, but it was clear that whatever had happened changed his very being. The point was made, and the results sent a signal to all families: Hadrian Addams was dangerous.

The very next day, the no-maj authorities of the United States found an unknown body. Split in half, the outside had probably been unnaturally conserved. The skin and all other surface features had been hardened through an unknown method, creating the appearance of a carcass. Anything inside the corpse, including the entrails, brains, skeleton, and muscles, had been apparently carefully removed, crushed, and then somewhat artistically moved around so as to form a message on the wall.

The body was unrecognizable, for the face had been cut off and plastered on the wall at the end of the message. Thus, this sort of display would usually have been attributed to no-maj violence, but the magic community took notice of two particular marks in this gruesome display: a ring, still attached to the left hand of the corpse, and the message itself.

The ring was famous amongst certain circles, for it was unique in the world, and was known to belongto one of the richest purebloods alive, the Head of the Malfoy family.

And as for the message, while it meant little to the no-maj authorities, was the unquestionable sign of a Family. Only one family, after all, held the motto: "Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc."

It was unquestionable; the Addams Family was the perpetrator.

With this, Hadrian Addams had proven himself.

More importantly, however, with this Draco Malfoy learnt about stronger powers and hierarchies than those taught by his father.

His father was not, as he had previously believed, King of the World.

He, Draco Malfoy, was therefore not the Prince of the World.

His father had stupidly made an enemy out of a very dangerous family.

This family was not to be trifled with. They obviously killed those deemed as enemies without great joy.

Draco did not want them as enemies.

Thus, at twelve years of age, Draco had made a decision, one that changed his entire life path.

They may have killed his father, but Draco was a Slytherin.

Slytherins usually prided themselves on their survival instincts, and their desire to be near those with power.

And oh, did he want to be near that delicious and enthralling magic once again.

Once in contact with such Darkness at full power, one couldn't go back. It had been _wrong_ , Draco knew, that he had enjoyed the other boy torturing and hurting his father. It had been _wrong_ that Draco wanted to join in and help. It had been _wrong_ that he started to seek and deliver pain, as if both were just two sides of a wonderful coin of pleasure. And most of all, it had been _wrong_ trying to dissociate himself completely from his father simply so that he could be near the Addams boy.

But, it was a wrongness that was exhilarating. If erasing his own family line helped him get closer to the other's family, then he would do it.

Draco was past caring. He had been changed.

That was how the Malfoys became the Blacks.

And that was how, through the Black Family magic, Draco started a descent into an even deeper Dark than he had felt before.

And that was how Narcissa, Draco's mother, regained that connection to it that she had lost in her marriage.

And that was how the Black Family's history resurfaced.

The Black Family hadn't gotten their name randomly after all. Once upon a time, they had been the family closest to the Dark in Europe. They had been equals to the Addams, friends and rivals in times of peace, subordinates in times of war.

And then the Balance of the World was broken, and the Dark Teachings were lost, restricted by those who feared it. The Black Family began a slow descent into unhappy insanity, losing its previously held power. The Dark, not properly used, disappears, taking those whose lines were filled with it in the process.

Draco and Narcissa, however, had both met with the Addams family at least once, and thus tasted that same Darkness their new Family had lost. That was how they discovered, or rather rediscovered, the Black Family Trait.

The Malfoy line had, in fact, been dark, but their connection to the Dark was never as deep as the Black's. The Malfoy Family prided itself on survival, but it had never survived through magic, nor had it ever **truly** believed in the Light and the Dark. Their power did given them a place among those of the Dark, but the family never truly understood it. Thus, their beliefs instead leaned towards pureblood propaganda. While neither belief was exclusive, Lucius Malfoy and his ancestors had always hated the idea of anything being superior to them, though they loved the idea that they were superior to others.

Draco had always been taught this. He, however, had learnt better.

Thus Draco changed and forgot any hatred he could've had for the Addams Family, instead lusting for the power that they could offer.

At thirteen years of age, having applied his new way of thinking, Draco Black had undeniably become the Emperor of Slytherin.

Now, a few years later, Draco was giddy with glee, having acquired new information.

The Addams Family was coming.

Draco could almost taste the power already, that all consuming Darkness they held. He now had his chance, the chance to become Hadrian Addams' second. He'd have to remind the Slytherins to show them proper respect, of course, with the help of his King and Queen.

That said, if any didn't listen… well, they wouldn't be his problem, now, would they?

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKNOTHINGELSEWORKS

"Come on children! We still need to buy all of your school items!" Gomez Addams' strong voice reigned over the population of Skástræti, Iceland's magical shopping alley.

"But father, why are we buying our things here? Couldn't we just have gone to New Orleans like usual?" asked a Pugsley Addams, seemingly very upset. He had been looking forwards to the Voodoo magic show that Aunt Laveau had promised for their next visit.

"Now now, Pugsley. You know that the headmaster of Ilvermorny personally requested us to, 'please stop inflicting our presence on poor innocent children and scarring them for life,'" commented Gomez.

"That delightful little man has always been such a flatterer!" smiled gently Morticia, seemingly lost in thought. "As strange as his request is, however, it is only polite to respect it. Besides, we have promised, and we always keep our promises, don't we?" she finished, dangerous glint present in her eyes.

"I still don't see what this has to do with us shopping here. We only promised to never set foot in Ilvermorny. Not shopping at our usual stores unsettles me," said Hadrian, ending with a mumble. He, like Pugsley, had been looking forwards to New Orleans, although his reasons were different. He had been hoping to get new and hard to find potion ingredients. There were very few places where he could get them, after all, and he trusted the one he found over there.

"Now, now, children. We figured that, since you are going to school in Europe, you should get to experience the same things they do! And remember, you've also been temporarily banned from New Orleans after last year. For some reason, the authorities didn't seem to appreciate the sudden lack of stop signs and increase of car crashes, can you imagine?" Gomez exclaimed, indignant.

"Well, I suppose that does explain it," commented Wednesday in her usual flat voice before shifting her attention towards Hadrian. "Hadrian, don't forget, you still owe me a new knife collection."

Her prized collection had been used up and broken by Hadrian in, as she perceived it, his foolish quest for a new broom. On the upside, going against so many magical creatures and attempting to control the darkest of magics was an exquisite experience, but that didn't excuse Hadrian's attempt at making his own broom with **her** knives. This current lack of special knives irritated her, and while she had already punished Hadrian, she did want a new collection, and soon.

"Of course, ma chère. Don't worry, I have a plan! And I promise, we will use each knife together at least once," was Hadrian's prompt reply.

Hadrian couldn't honestly regret the destruction of her previous knives, however. Certainly, they had been lovely, but to him they represented his absence. They reminded him of every time she had hunted without him, every time that she had tortured and played without him. So Hadrian could not honestly say he was sorry.

Besides, while the destruction of those precious knives had made him suffer at her hands, it had been a period of wonderful and exquisite pain.

Plus, he had managed to make his new broom.

Hadrian Addams may be amongst the most composed teenagers in the world, there were two activities that made him show his true age and show his clearest and most truthful laughter.

One was killing, but that one was a shared trait within the Addams Family.

However, each member of the family had their own special trait, one that brought them the greatest of joys, such as Wednesday's affinity with electricity, Uncle Fester's love for explosions, or even Gomez's attraction towards crashing trains.

This trait, in Hadrian, was flying. It was his second favorite activity.

Unlike most kids, however, Hadrian's true attraction to it had something to do with the closeness to Death that he felt when flying. He felt bliss as he neared the ground, one touch away from being crushed into the floor. He felt joy every missed bludger, for it brought him promises of sweet pain (although he had to be careful with those, for Wednesday was possessive, and thus would be angry if he had any marks not left by her).

Most importantly however, as his favorite position in Quidditch, his beater role brought the greatest pleasure. He was a hunter, broom in one hand, and bat on the other. He aimed, he hit, he crushed, and he pain and disappointment surrounded him.

It was for this reason that Hadrian had always felt a stronger affinity towards Quidditch than towards Quodpot, despite the latter being an American favorite. Quodpot just didn't appeal to him like Quidditch did, even more so in his new handmade broom. And so, though it took Wednesday's collection to collect all the things he wanted for it, the broom was a work of art.

Of course, however, that didn't mean he'd forget about her new collection. Not that he could, in the first place. And he looked forwards to seeing her lovely smile each time he gave her a new knife, right after using it with her.

With their preferences in mind, the family did their shopping, ending up at one of Iceland's most infamous shop, a place without a name, known only by those of a certain standing.

"Dear Gomez, when are we meeting Igor? He did invite us for tea, did he not?" Morticia's slow and seductive voice resonated in her husband's ears, taking his attention away from the book he had been glancing at, **21 Torture Methods Invented by Muggles**.

"He did indeed, querida!" Gomez exclaimed, wrapping his arm around her waist. "He should be here soon, actually. This was our meeting point."

"Oh, wonderful! He will get to meet the children and…" Morticia started, before being cut off by spontaneous green flames coming from the chimney.

Stepping out of the green flames, one man stood tall.

"Hello Gomez, Morticia."

Though Karkaroff had once been a coward, years of dealing with those more powerful than himself taught him bravery. One could not be Headmaster at Durmstrang otherwise.

Thus, courage found, Igor Karkaroff was prepared to talk with the people he feared the most. His old master would probably never terrify him as much as this family did, he mused, before leading them towards a specially prepared back room.

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKNOTHINGELSEWORKS

Kilometers away, secured and jailed in the prison of Nuremberg, the last known Light Lord lied on the floor, dead.

It had, in fact, been years since his death, but isolation had stopped anyone from finding out.

Till now, that is. The only one who had visited him in years, 'Albus Dumbledore,' was finally aware.

Worried, the man instantly left, opting to return to Hogwarts. This would not do at all. This was terrible news.

"He's dead. HE'S DEAD!" screamed Gellert Grindelwald to a certain phoenix. "This could ruin everything!" He was more than aware of what that meant. "When a Lord dies, another takes his place! There's no way of knowing how long ago he died, or how young the new Lord is without someone finding out about everything!" Not only would he have to deal with his plans for Harry Potter, but now he would, potentially, also have to deal with a budding Light Lord.

Screaming in rage once more, he looked out the window, before once again trying to reformulate his plans.

"On the upside, the Light followers have mostly forgotten the Old Ways, so nothing is lost there. They won't be able to sense anything but a strong attraction to whoever it is, and will probably never assume he's a Light Lord. Neither will he know, probably, since no one will be able to tell them, so my position is secure. I just need to keep an eye out on anyone that seems to have a bit too much charisma." Well, that shouldn't be too much of a problem. He was already doing that, after all. It wouldn't do for anyone to gather a stronger power base than him.

"The question is in the age. I know he was still alive eighteen years ago, so it must be someone younger," he muttered. "Best situation, I can make whoever it is my puppet. If the worse happens, I could just kill him. It wouldn't be too strange if I claim by magic that it was a Dark Lord versus Light Lord situation. Magic would back me up, for it would be the truth, and no one would question me being the Light Lord."

So intent on his plans he was that Grindelwald didn't notice the brief mocking smile one of the many pretending-to-sleep portraits sported.

The portrait in question had never reacted before, refusing to answer to those she deemed unworthy. However, that did not mean that she was unaware of the changes in society.

In her own time she had been a Dark Lady, and thus Magic was, for her, easy to detect even in portrait form.

Thus the funny part of the rant, from her point of view, was that Grindelwald still considered himself a Dark Lord.

Oh, he undoubtedly thought himself very clever; pretending to be a Light Lord and all. Unfortunately, the fact of the matter was that his years as Albus Dumbledore had slowly repressed the Dark in him. Grindelwald was still dark, of course, but he wasn't Dark anymore.

It was even funnier, the portrait thought, that the world now held such different views on magic than the past. It was mostly thanks to the ministry that it happened, of course, but that wasn't entirely unexpected.

By slowly and over time labeling spells as either dark or light in ministry standards, the natural parting by Magic of Light and Dark became to be seen as useless to wizards and witches, and practice slowly dwindled.

Shows of Dark or Light became condemned, and though the terms of dark and light lord remained, only the Dark truly held on to the meaning. Even then, most forgot the true differences between Dark and Light, instead parting it between the illegal and the legal.

Through this, no one could truly try and hold the title of dark lord for most Dark Families knew the true meaning of being Dark. Certain, however, held those such as Lord Voldemort in esteem, for the families were driven by despair, and saw his obvious dealings in the illegal as a sign. Most of his followers were either driven to madness for betraying the True Dark as a result, losing all sense in the process. Voldemort, not having the required knowledge, had of course been unable to stop it, much to his frustration.

The previous Light families were not better off. Most forgot their roots, and thus accepted anyone who showed power and what they thought to be goodness. While the abandoning the Light did not lead to madness, it did take away their power and blinded them to their surroundings. Thus, the stories of past magical prowess were firmly put down as legends and myths, wizards disbelieving what they could not reproduce.

In this way, the Magical World had lost the Ancient Knowledge, and had dealt huge blows to their very being for doing so. Grindelwald had, unknowingly broken any relations to the Dark through this lack of knowledge.

To be Dark, one had to have a connection to Dark Magic. It had to resonate in one's soul, a soul shaped by family, destiny, and actions. This was the same with the Light, of course, but Grindelwald had once been Dark. However, pretending to have a connection to the Light had severed his ties to the Dark. He still used what was considered dark magic by the Ministry, but the power wasn't there anymore, as his soul no longer leaned towards it.

He never noticed any of this. Ironically, it was the same item he acquired for power, the Elder Wand, which clouded his mind towards this sudden drop in his magic.

This lack of essential knowledge, the portrait of Morgan le Fay decided, was not what she and the three other founders had aimed for.

So that knowledge would pass on without prejudice she had even changed her name to Helga Hufflepuff for Darkness' sake. And yet, the truth had still been masked, and most of it by the very government and school that they had set up.

Values had changed as well. Loyalty and hard work, two of the things she personally prized the most, were now considered useless. It was, however, through hard work, and not just talent, that people shined. If one didn't work towards their own goals, life just didn't work out. It was the same with loyalty. The most important thing for any True Light or Dark Lord was the followers. Fear or bribery can get most humans to do anything possible, but true loyalty can get those same humans to do the impossible. Of course, a True Lord also has to show the same loyalty towards the followers.

Hence why she had chosen those traits for her house.

Unfortunately, the things she considered basics were now unknown by most.

It'd be interesting though, if suddenly that ancient knowledge became known again. Especially considering the new Light and Dark Lords on the way. Grindelwald hadn't been a Dark Lord for many years after all.

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKNOTHINGELSEWORKS

Had anyone asked Ron Weasley what house he'd end up in before Hogwarts, he would have immediately stated Gryffindor.

Had anyone asked Hermione Granger what house she'd end up in before Hogwarts, she would have said considered, and answer either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, with special consideration towards Gryffindor, due to the headmaster.

On their first meeting, had anyone asked if they would be friends, both would have pulled disgusted faces and neither would have deigned to answer.

That said, neither would have expected that a rather fateful encounter would push them both towards Slytherin.

And neither would have imagined that, driven out by their housemates, they would confide in each other.

Most of all, however, neither would have seen their future as two of Slytherin leaders, along with Draco Black.

However, fate worked in mysterious ways, and paths changed with the absence of one Harry Potter.

Ron's path diverged after sharing a compartment with his older brother, Percy.

Percy Weasley could not really be considered a bully, yet his words had the rather unfortunate tendency of always hitting Ron where it hurt the most. The train ride reminded Ron of this.

Ron had been so tired of it, had wanted to escape it, and sitting in the same compartment as his "perfect" brother rather reinforced this sentiment.

What would Gryffindor really bring him anyway, he thought, seven more years of people like his brothers? Ron wanted more. He wanted to shine. He wanted a place of his own. He wanted to rise.

He didn't expect his decision to force him into Slytherin.

Despite a few rough months in his first year, however, it was undeniable that Slytherin fit him. It had made Ron into a leader. It had brought out all of his strengths, and forced him to use them. It had transformed a lazy boy into a hard worker. It had transformed him into someone who could predict, manipulate, and control the end results of almost any action at Hogwarts. It hadn't transformed his values, but it had helped him gain a rather open view on values that differed from his own.

And, of course, it had lead to his friendship with Hermione Granger, one of the smartest people he knew and one of his greatest strengths.

Her own deviation from Gryffindor had started with two different meetings on the train ride.

One of them was with Ron Weasley, who had quite quickly called her a know-it-all, assimilating her with his brother at the time.

The other was, ironically, with another supposed know-it-all, for it made her want to change.

Her meeting with Ron Weasley served to remind her how people perceived her. Her meeting with Ravenclaw's Marietta Edgecombe, however, made her see what other's saw in her.

Someone who memorized books without truly thinking about what they were reading and without accepting that there's knowledge outside of books. Someone who pretended to know everything, yet really knew nothing at all.

This became her turning point, for she also wanted to be more. She wanted to know about everything, of course, but she mostly wanted to be able to use that knowledge, to be able to do something with it, and to discover more through her own mind.

Hence why, once she got over her dislike of Ron Weasley, it turned out that they made the perfect team.

Hermione became the brain, the one who'd research learn and know how to apply that knowledge.

Ron became the one who opened the pathway for it to happen, controlling the reactions and calculating all factors.

One was the gatherer of knowledge and the researcher of the impossible; the second was the manipulator of people and the seeker of possibilities.

While not many saw the change this brought about at first, something happened in their second year to bring it to the attention of the others.

A new, and changed, Draco Black, formerly Malfoy, appeared in the Slytherin Common Room.

From then on, a quick new alliance was formed. Draco held the power and the money. He, however, needed help using it. He had changed, but he wasn't ready to lead just yet. He needed support. He needed help. And he needed people he knew would be loyal just as he would be to them.

It was the sight of Draco Black bowing and asking for help that truly convinced them of his change, for the old Draco would never have done so, seeing them as below him.

This new partnership worked miracles in the Slytherin Hierarchy. Draco quickly rose to power through his own means. Hermione told him everything he needed to know, while Ron observed the people around and struck down any opposition through trickery so as to make the ascension smooth and easy.

Hermione and Ron got the knowledge and power they sought, and so much more.

Draco gave them access to almost everything. He installed them in high positions in the new Slytherin Hierarchy. He arranged meeting with people in power for a future in any job they wished. Most of all, however, Draco taught them the Old Ways he'd rediscovered, knowing that Hermione would never have heard of it, and Ron, coming from an old Light Family, would probably not have known either.

Unsurprisingly, Ron turned out to be a child of the Light. His family had been, in the past, and his teachings, while growing up, had given him a faint connection to it. From then on, Ron endeavored himself towards the search of the Old Ways of the Light, which had been forgotten.

Surprisingly, Hermione chose to be of the Dark. As a Muggleborn Witch, she was a blank slate for Magic, and therefore it was her choice. It wasn't a choice she made lightly, but it was the one that made the most sense to her.

Neither was upset, for both understood, after a few weeks of brooding over the matter, that though Dark and Light had often been in conflict during History, it wasn't meant to be so. Light and Dark were merely two sides of a coin, meant to keep balance in the world.

And thus the Slytherin room gained three leaders in the unlikely triumvirate of Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Draco Malfoy. Though only the top of the Hierarchy were aware of it being a triumvirate, people were still very aware of them being important.

It took time, but Ron and Hermione were finally respected by the Slytherins, and they got the names of King and Queen of Slytherin.

Draco, of course, became the Emperor of Slytherin.

And thus, it was with excitement that Ron and Hermione met with Draco during the summer of their fourth year.

This year, things would change even more, after all.


	4. Preview to Chaos

A.N.: Right. I'm so sorry it took forever. Real life and University took over. I shouldn't even be doing this right now, I have an exam in two days... Anyway! This is the new chapter. Hopefully, you enjoy it, and if you don't... please tell me why? As always, this is not mine and I am not accepting money at all (and therefore I do not own either the Addams Family nor Harry Potter, as much as I wish I could).

2 PM, Thursday, 4 weeks before the trip to Hogwarts;

Hadrian Addams was annoyed.

He had originally enjoyed his new school's robes, as they were a wonderful blood red, but he hadn't expected them to hide the bloodstains of others.

Of course, he did know that they stains would be visible later, after drying up, but he felt affronted about not being able to see the blood at its liveliest, fresh from the opponent's body.

Well, at least he could enjoy, he mused, the drops that landed on the floor as the other swayed in place, heavily stumbling around and attempting to regain footing.

"What…," Hadrian barely heard among the shallow and needy breaths taken in front of him, "what the hell was that?!"

"Mm? I'm not sure what you mean?"

"You know what I'm talking about! That wasn't safe! I refuse to believe it!" shouted his now hysteric classmate, "that's… no… you were going to kill me, weren't you? You… you would've… if it wasn't for Professor Alucard… and you totally could have too… You are a monster!"

Well, Hadrian thought, they should've known not to do this. His parents had warned Karkaroff about his abilities, as well as his penchant for blood and chaos. Of course, knowing Professor Alucard—an old family friend and the current professor of Martial Magiks—it was entirely probable that this was his aim. The man had always had a sadistic streak in him, after all.

The professor had been introduced to Hadrian at ten as his martial arts and martial magiks tutor. Tall, lean, yet seemingly lacking muscles, nicely dressed and wearing spectacles, the professor's appearance was deceptive to those who didn't know of his creature background. Hadrian had enjoyed watching him time and time again prove to the new students in his class that he was not to be trifled with.

"Stop whining already, Mr. Culus. Merlin, you cry more than a banshee would in the middle of a pregnancy!" the deep tone of the professor resonated, disdainful. "For your information, that was simply a masterful combination of several banal spells. Can anyone tell me, apart from Mr. Addams, which ones?"

Hadrian wondered, as silence permeated the class, whether anyone would guess correctly. It was laughable, in the end, that not one student volunteered with an answer. He'd been expecting top quality schooling—not quite as great as his parents' teachings, of course, but still good enough to not disappoint him.

"I must say, I am… disappointed, at your mediocrity. I will assign this to you. If by the end of the month there isn't at least one valuable answer, you will all repeat the year," whispered the professor, gritting his teeth in frustration. "You are all dismissed, save for Hadrian Addams."

"I thought I was getting taught by the best," commented the teenager to the professor once silence had settled in the wake of his classmates' disappearance from the classroom.

"You are. Who do you think taught Grindelwald? Unfortunately, your entire generation is made up of spoiled, unassuming, entitled, and much too convinced of their own greatness, brats," calmly said the professor, before proceeding to stare at Harry.

"Which is why I have requested that you be assigned with the seventh years. They will be much more up to your standard, and I think you will enjoy what they will be enduring this year," finished the professor, grinning and with pointed teeth reflecting the candle light.

"Why wasn't I assigned there in the first place? Do you know how long it took me to convince Wednesday not to murder anyone without me?"

"And she listened to you? I can't imagine."

"She knows I enjoy watching her in her element."

"Either way, Karkaroff seemed to be under the impression that splitting you up based on age would minimize the risk of uncontrollable accidents. Additionally, he severely underestimated you, as an adopted child of the Addams," finally explained Professor Alucard. "He is, after all, a fool, but since he is a useful one we had to go along with it till we had positive proof of your power."

"And you do now?" asked Hadrian while smirking.

"Undoubtedly. However, I will warn you not rest on your laurels. There are many in this school with untapped potential, a willingness to hurt, or a great deal of experience. Your particular advantage is that you have all three, but never underestimate these students, beings, or professors at this school. Many come from dark families, such as yours, and those who have forgotten the old ways could always gain them back with a vengeance," said the professor, eyes darkening behind his lenses.

Despite the severity of the tone addressing him, the young Addams simply grinned brightly and said, "of course. There would not be any fun in being invincible after all. The beauty of life is that death is always near, wouldn't you say so?"

"You are going to instigate them on purpose, aren't you?" said the professor, resigned.

"Wouldn't you like to have plausible deniability?"

"Not really. I enjoy unexpected events, so I'll be looking forwards to it. Your family always manages to make things entertaining in the best way. I suppose this also means that you'll be participating in the interschool tournament as well? And don't pretend you don't know anything about it."

This time Hadrian responded with a feral grin, "Just try to keep me away from it."

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

At the same time as Hadrian Addams was attempting to severely hurt one of his classmates, Wednesday Addams roamed the halls of Durmstrang, bored and attempting to follow through on her promise to Hadrian.

Which made her think of Hadrian.

Now there was a thought that made her smile. They had grown so much, both of them.

Though Wednesday had willingly looked for him after Grandmamma's prophecy, and even though Hadrian had initially admired her, it was undeniable that troubles followed in their relationship. On one hand, Hadrian had attempted to compete with her over her parents' love, and, on the other, she had needed him to prove his worth to her. The murder she had witnessed was… stimulating, to say the least, but it hadn't been enough.

He needed to chase after her, hurt her, be hurt by her, and still keep going. An endless chase full of blood, mortality, and love. Was that too much to ask for?

She'd wondered that so many times back then.

It was certainly different from her parent's love, but no less passionate. She needed a rival, someone who would bring out the worst and the best out of her, while at the same time demonstrating the same skill with words as her parents.

It wasn't until her attempt at dating someone else, however, that Wednesday finally saw these traits in Hadrian.

Hadrian's possessiveness and darker side awoke then and there, succeeding in almost immediately enchanting Wednesday. The prophecy had been right, she mused, but Hadrian had still been immature back then. Too childish for her. Whereas she was already practicing the art of subtlety killing, he was still competing with Pugsley over the number of car crashes each caused.

It, therefore, took a couple more years before they truly became a couple, Wednesday remembered, but their exchanges since she'd been made to watch her ex-boyfriend (victim) be eaten by starving lions had been worth it.

Now, if only she could find her boyfriend now, she was itching for a proper rematch. The last one had set her blood boiling, and what she needed now was a release of some kind.

"You are Wednesday Addams, are you not?" a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Yes. Who are you?" brusquely replied Wednesday. This had better be good, she privately thought; no one should ever interrupt her while Hadrian was in her thoughts.

"Victor Krum. I would like to, how to say it, come under your wing, and return to the Old Ways and the Dark."

Well, that had certainly raised her interest.

"And what makes you believe that you are even worthy of the Dark?"

"I feel it in my blood. I always have," the boy explained, "I am, you could say, in tune with magic. I feel it, I hear it, and I look for it. It's why I am a good seeker; It helps me. The Dark calls me, and I am now attempting to answer it, through you."

"Why are you only answering it now, in that case? While I must imagine that the pain you endured for it was delightful, it is not smart to make It wait," tonelessly replied the Addams girl, eyes glinting in interest.

The surly boy stood straight before speaking, nervousness present in his eyes. "I… My family has suffered at the hands of Grindelwald. You have to understand; everything the Dark was whispering to me, everything I sensed, it all seemed much too close to that man. I did not want to have anything similar to my family's enemy."

"And now?"

"Now I have had a few weeks to observe you and your family. I have observed the Dark around you, the way it surrounds you and protects you, as well as the way it reacts to your surroundings. I want that. I crave it. Grindelwald will forever be my enemy, but he should have nothing to do with my own relationship with magic. I refuse to let him affect this."

Wednesday blankly stared at him, before a grin slowly crept up on her face. "Very well. How acquainted are you with pain?"

The apparent quidditch star answered, puzzled, "I regularly deal with it, in classes and on the field. It is a recurrence in my life. Why?"

"Lesson number one," whispered Wednesday into his ear before proceeding to curse him, "pain."

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

12 AM, Wednesday, one week before departure to Hogwarts;

"What would you say is a beautiful wand? I've always been particular to the temperamental ones. Creating and controlling one gives me a thrill like none other and seeing one in action is so addicting," a shadowed man conversed, looking towards the moon in the sky, before slightly turning and facing the second man in the room.

"Oh, right, I forgot you couldn't speak. Here, let me help you, dear Mykew," said the man, waving his wand and canceling a spell on the older man tied to a chair. "I so hope you're more cooperative now, however. I would loathe having to hurt an old friend any more than I have to."

"What… what exactly do you want from me?! If it's about Egypt, then I'm sorry!" shrieked the tied up man in despair, "I had no idea that Garrick was going to do that!"

"Oh come on, really? I couldn't care less about that. I've already gotten even with Garrick over this. However, he did hear some rather interesting rumors about you, Mykew."

"Rumors… what rumors?" stuttered Mykew, "I haven't done anything worthy enough to guarantee rumors. Even my wand making has been stalled as of recent times…"

The other man in the room finally fully turned around, gazing at the tied up man lying on the floor.

"And I suppose you have also never heard of the elder wand?" he said while sneering. "Please, who do you take me for?"

"Is that what this is supposed to be about? Great Thor, I lost that wand decades ago!"

"Sigh, of course you did. And while you had it, it never occurred to you to even mention it to me? You knew I was tracking it, after all. Yet, until now, I had heard nothing about it."

"Can you blame me? It's the Elder Wand!" started to shout Mykew, before catching the dark gleam that transpierced the other man's eye, "… What will it take for you to forgive and release me?"

"Show me everything."

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

8 AM, Friday, day of departure

All in all, Hadrian cheerily thought, he may have underestimated the student population of Durmstrang.

He had been expecting much worse. Despite the poor show of skills,H many showed, they had the will, the thirst for power, and the potential. It was just a matter of teaching them humility and showing them the right way.

Wednesday and Hadrian had, of course, eagerly taken on that task, breaking each one by one and rebuilding them up from scratch.

Although, that also meant he spent less time with his dearest. And he was getting slightly jealous, especially since her first protégée, Victor Krum, kept hanging around her. He would probably already be dead if he hadn't specifically pledged alliance to both of them. As a couple. Acknowledging them.

That thought did make Hadrian smile.

He'd been so foolish when he was young, mistaking his love for Wednesday as a simple wish for her to get out of the way for Gomez and Morticia's affections. He'd learned, however, and he had made up for it. Until he messed up again with his stupid immaturity.

Hadrian had tried to cage Wednesday, at one point. Not literally (although didn't that sound fun?), but he had attempted to control her, in a way. Needless to say, Wednesday hadn't taken it well, and Hadrian had been so confused. Possession wasn't the problem, she showed that just as much as him, and even reveled in it. It was a two-way street. So what was it?

It wasn't until Hadrian realized, three weeks later, that what he had been doing was like ripping a crow's wings and denying it its beautiful dark glory that he finally apologized. He had realized that Wednesday in her element was the most delightful;, and restricting that (had he succeeded) would have taken it away.

He had then proceeded to receive an extensive talk from his family about freedom and collaboration, one he had taken to heart while privately swearing to never restrict her again. Or at least in this sense.

While he enjoyed sadness in anyone, he enjoyed Wednesday much more in her element, as she killed the girl who'd kept giving him those horrible uncut roses, and as she smiled under the moon on one of their many dates.

And so, he had taken a step towards their eventual relationship. Maybe a punishment for Victor might be in order, however? Just as a reminder. Although, after a few weeks under Wednesday, chances were he'd actually enjoy it.

Wasn't that an entertaining thought?

"Hadrian! What do you think? Is the entrance enough?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, Hadrian turned his thinking towards the present. They had, as he remembered, been going over their entrance at Hogwarts and then dealing with the other students. The boy next to him was a seventh-year leader who had succumbed to Hadrian after a rather eventful duel. Hadrian had rather enjoyed the duel, especially since the other was rather unexpectedly strong and had gotten Hadrian various times with pain curses.

Now, if only he could cure his sloppiness when eating, then he would be a rather good aide. The older boy was like a Grimm, following him around and seeking approval for everything.

"Poliakoff, you already know my opinion. I am much more concerned with what happens after our entrance."

"Explain that to me one more time? Isn't how we present ourselves what matters most?" exclaimed the other student.

"I wish you had that philosophy in your normal life. What you say is true, but that's exactly why the after is the important part. Tell me, what do the Hogwarts students particularly value?" calmly asked Hadrian.

"The Houses?"

"Exactly! Many of them will be awed by our entrance, which is what we are aiming for. However, and more importantly, the students will be keenly watching where we sit. Will we sit with the Gryffindors, supposed symbols of goodness and light magic? Or will the Ravenclaws, seekers of knowledge and acknowledged neutrals attract us more? Worse, in Britain's eyes, will the Slytherins be our pick, considering their dark past and propensity for the dark, just as us? That is what everyone of importance will be judging us on," said Hadrian, as they found a place on the boat bringing them to Hogwarts.

"However, isn't it already decided we will be sitting with Slytherin? Our headmaster is acquainted with the Slytherin house head after all," asked Poliakoff, still confused. "Not to mention the alliances many of us have with the darker houses over there."

A dark smile crept up on Hadrian's face at this.

"I have already discussed this with the headmaster, don't worry. We will be officially sitting next to the Hufflepuffs."

"Hufflepuffs? Why? Are you out of your mind?" exclaimed the other student, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Are you questioning me?" whispered Hadrian at him, while at the same time as a mysterious force started squeezing Poliakoff's neck.

"I… am… sorry…" he managed to say, barely breathing, before suddenly being released.

"Hufflepuff is a widely underestimated house. In the first place, this would help us in disassociating ourselves from the image they have of us. It is not only important if we want to do networking the right way, but it is also a good way to throw them off and letting those curious in the Old Magics that are not in Slytherin approach us without fear. Remember, not all the allies we want are in Slytherin, especially since they will automatically come to us anyway. Additionally, this helps us avoid the Gryffindor and followers of the light, and thus clashing with them. More importantly, however, are the traits a Hufflepuff values: hard work and loyalty. Two traits that my family loves above all, and for good reason," finished Hadrian, fully smiling and stretching his blood red lips.

"I see!"

"Also, think about the chaos! Durmstrang sitting with Hufflepuffs? Can you not think of a better conversation and rumor starter?" finished Hadrian, laughing out loud.

"Now, let us rest. Wednesday will be joining us soon, as soon as she is done dealing the girls."


	5. Hogwarts Mysteries

Hogwarts Mysteries

A.N.: I'm so sorry for not having updated in, however. I had to write so many essays this past year that I started to feel disgusted at writing for a while. I hope this long chapter (although not really the best quality—anyone wants to be a Beta?) kinda makes up for it. No blood or other this chapter, but I hope you guys still like it. As always, I do not own any of this.

6 p.m. Friday, October 30, 1994

Neville Longbottom, to the rest of Gryffindor, was the antithesis of their house: a coward and a weak wizard. Indeed, at first glance, the average onlooker couldn't blame them. The Longbottom heir often did subpar in most assignments, cried out at the tiniest of sounds, and never stood up to those who bullied him. He was, most assumed, an unremarkable kid with no backbone.

Due to this, a variety of Neville's odd habits had gone unnoticed by a large majority of his classmates. A penchant for always locking shut any door he crossed, an astounding ability for learning and applying self-protection spells, and, more noticeably, his fear of windows, were all indications of a smarter brain and more dangerous person than any of them could imagine.

Many of these had come from Neville's peculiar childhood. His grandmother, although loving in her own way, was neglectful in a variety of ways, both towards herself and towards her grandson. She had failed to see a magical therapist after the torture and loss of her son and his wife, not realizing the problematic mental problems these events and the war had caused in her.

Neville, in her mind, often overlapped with her son, Frank Longbottom. Sometimes, Neville was just Neville, but sometimes she could not help but believe him to be Frank.

As a result, Augusta Longbottom expected Neville to act as a full grown wizard and to show the abilities of one. Frank was Neville and Neville was Frank. If Frank was able to duel three people at once, she believed, there was no reason for Neville (Frank) not to be able to do so as well.

She had thus been met with failure. At four years of age, he cried too much. At six, he was unable to make friends due to his meekness. At eight, his bullies discovered him to be an easy target. At ten, he was too scared to speak up. As far as she was concerned, her Frank—her Neville—was a disappointment. She thought he had been better than that, and the thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Due to this neglect and disappointment, with time other relatives had started acting on impulses that bordered on abuse and neglect. Pushing Neville off Blackpool pier and nearly drowning him in the process, for instance, or dropping him out of a window due to dangling Neville from it were two moments the boy might have died, from which much of his meekness and perceptions came from.

To the Longbottom family, these were merely playful attempts to prove the magical might the boy possessed (he could not be a squib—he was Frank's). Neither Neville nor the others thought of their behavior as unusual as wrong, for there was no perceived reason to. They all loved each other, after all.

These actions, however, had affected the way Neville saw the world and had enhanced his survival instincts, including an extreme sensitivity to magic and emotions.

Neville, despite growing in a loving family, had experienced neglect and grown up to be, by eleven, an apathetic boy with an adult way of thinking. It was a paradoxical situation, as he was also extremely perceptive to other's emotions due to having forcibly learned empath and magical sensitivity in order to survive.

It was also the cause of the boy's lack of emotions, however; young Neville Longbottom had decided to reject any and all emotions he felt as belonging to other people.

Magic was constant, seldom changing, but emotions were fickle, irrational and, most often than not, led him to pain.

With this lesson in mind, Neville had learned to blend in, to be one of the many, and to manipulate people into perceiving him as he wanted.

At Hogwarts, therefore, Neville had kept on purposefully failing his assignments. If one did badly, expectations for future prowess were lowered and so were the risks of him dying from dangerous situations.

Additionally, previous to his third year, he had also found it extremely hard to concentrate during exams. The nervousness and anxiety pushed onto him by other's magic auras during first year exams had been painful to deal with, and his concentration had waned. It had forced him to learn how to handle the influx of emotions and magicks that he felt on a constant basis.

Similarly, Neville often jumped and screamed at any action performed near him because he knew that, if anything were to actually happen, people were more likely to look and react fast if startled and forced to pay attention than if not. A second could be the difference between life and death, after all.

The only threat at Hogwarts that would force him to stop doing so would be the House points system but Neville hadn't ever cared about it because, quite frankly, points did not help him in any perceivable way.

Taking points from bullies didn't stop the bullying; it just forced them to be smarter about it. In Neville's mind, the odds of survival were better when no one looked at him. If people did not focus on him, except as a target, he was less likely to be affected by their magic.

And, perhaps tragically, people never, ever, looked at the ones being bullied. Looking, after all, would be a form of acknowledgment. Acknowledgment would lead to guilt.

People did not like feeling guilty. It was that simple.

Neville also locked his doors due to trust issues. Humans were greedy, prone to irrational bursts of emotions and, this meant, nothing of Neville's would ever be safe otherwise. His uncles and aunts had often tried pranks and spells on him at night, and his one stay at Malfoy Manor had ended with his most treasured possession being stolen.

No, humans were not to be trusted. The hatred he had felt from some people's auras was much more stable than love and any promises that came from it. If it benefitted them he had no doubt that, whether the aura was light or dark, they would not hesitate to steal from him or hurt him.

In the same vein of thought, Neville's reason for learning protection spells as fast as possible had to do with his family's actions and harmful prank spells.

They loved him and had wanted to prepare him, make him show his worth, they had claimed. Neville's survival was important to the Family.

And Survival thus became Neville's one goal. Life and Death had been of no consequence in his mind, but he'd been taught the importance of his Family. It did not matter if he didn't care, for his Family did, so he would now survive.

The protection spells had been the first thing he'd even looked up in his textbook. He could sense magic, see it even, but no one had taught him how to protect himself from it.

His great-uncle Algie had a fondness for dangling him from windows, which had given Neville enough brushes with death to associate them with the Being.

While the dangling was not ill-meant, and it had proven he had magic when he bounced after being let go, it had thus given him a healthy dose of precaution towards anything regarding heights and windows in general. Magic would save him, yes, but he had to survive. Windows did not represent survival, and so he had avoided them.

Nevertheless, as odd as these habits could have been to others had they paid attention, it was Neville's most peculiar trait, his obsession with writing anything and everything he had seen in a little black notebook that never left his pocket, which truly showcased how dangerous Neville Longbottom could grow to be.

The little and quaint notebook was the one oddity that could pose the most trouble to those who had met the boy. It contained conclusions and observations that many wanted kept secret.

Because Neville did not have emotions himself, he had learned to observe people as a survival skill. His magic and aura sensitivity acquired, as a result, had thus helped him recognized different types of people, emotion wise and magically wise.

Sometimes he himself didn't know which was which. They intermingled, and he just knew what he felt from others. Light and darkness, hatred, despair, love, fear, hope, and so much more he understood superficially through his abilities.

Still, he only knew that one was constant, and one changed. That one seemed inborn and rational, and the other fickle and irrational. But they still mixed and showed him each individual in a way only he could see.

Neville was expected to become an Auror, as Frank had been (it was only natural), and then enter politics. The Longbottom name was respected after all, and it was tradition to keep it so through government and power.

People of importance and of wealth had kept coming and going and Neville, as a result, had been able to see the many little differences between them.

Meeting Lucius Malfoy had taught him how to recognize contempt, pride, and bribery, a hint of dark in his aura showing how far he would go for his goals. It had been a dark gray and had made Neville's skin crawl with echoing disgust. It screamed deception, hatred, and, most importantly, ignorance.

He still had no idea how, but he'd been very sure that Magic had no love for the man, though it hadn't abandoned him at the time.

Neville's experience with Cornelius Fudge and his wife, on the other hand, had presented him to the difference between fake smiles and real ones. Fudge's dim magical aura was light, tinted with a dark border that had seemed to become stronger every year, despite lacking color.

He'd seen corruption in action, happening on a person with no true belief and just one desire: power. Magic had liked this man at some point, but by the last time Neville had seen the Minister of Magic, it had become indifferent to the man.

His wife's aura though had been a wonder. It had been, originally, so bright and vivid and so entrancing to him, one of the few joys of life Neville could enjoy.

Unfortunately, it had dimmed over time, most likely caused by her husband dismissing her family's view of the Old Ways, a concept Neville still did not fully understand. Neville had seen her aura waver over time as every dinner Fudge laughed about the ideas her family supported. Every time, it had gotten a little bit paler, a little bit less strong.

Whatever the Old Ways were, Magic had seemed to get closer, love her more whenever Mrs. Fudge attempted to insist more on it but, ultimately, her husband's refusals had ended that, leaving Magic almost indifferent once she turned completely away from those beliefs.

The Greengrass Lord had been an interesting person to Neville as well. Supposedly gray in alignment according to his grandmother, the meeting had made him understand that political goals did not always reflect with what Magic told him. Greengrass' magic had been Dark, pure Dark.

While it had not felt like a fit for him, Neville had also felt rightness with it that no other aura up till then had given him. The Magic was singing, and while Lord Greengrass' hatred for his uncle did shine through, it felt in no way as vile as Lord Malfoy's had been.

The closest he'd come to feeling that rightness had been Mrs. Fudge, and that had faded over time. It wasn't the man's power that mattered, no, that had been rather average, but the way Magic resonated with Lord Greengrass had been intoxicating.

It was the ultimate survival, and the ultimate exhilaration for Neville, who previously could only feel Magic and who could only care about Family. He had, at that point, obtained a new obsession.

Albus Dumbledore, on the other hand, had been a puzzle to the young boy.

A frequent visitor to his home, Neville had wanted to trust him despite a natural inclination for distrust. He had wanted to view the man as Neville's grandmother did, as a paragon of Light. He'd been seven when he first met Dumbledore, but the meeting had not gone well.

Although Dumbledore's aura had greatly dimmed since then, and become much viler to his senses, echoing with Magic's screams, at the time Neville had been overcome with Dark.

It hadn't been the disgusting dark that he'd felt with Malfoy, but rather much more majestic, and pure. Certainly, it'd felt like Greengrass' own magic, much more powerful in strength and intoxicating to some of the other Dark auras that Neville could see.

Neville hadn't known how to describe it at the time, but he'd felt it, strongly.

And then it waned. It started becoming an echo, diminishing in its connection to Magic, to the pure Dark, and while still powerful, paling with its former might.

Before Mrs. Fudge, Neville had originally believed this first impression to be a side effect brought by his irrationality at that age. His mind, he'd felt, must have imagined what it saw. This was because Neville's second meeting with Dumbledore and one of many more during that year, at age nine, had been very different.

This person had been something before but, much like Mrs. Fudge, he had already lost that self. The only part that remained constant, Neville's constant, was Magic. It could not tell lies. Dumbledore had never been the Light people had believed him to be. Lightness had never touched him.

It had become even worse today, almost seven years later. The majesty of Dumbledore's connection to Magic had disappeared, and the feel of his aura had gone more and more towards the sickly and vile feeling Neville had experienced with the Malfoy Lord.

It was no longer pure Dark, but only dark in color and the feel of blood was stronger than ever, the metallic taste tainted by a rotten smell.

Dumbledore had been a puzzle, Neville thought, but now he had become more of a threat. The magic aura had felt wrong more and more every meeting, and Neville's own magic crawled whenever he was near the man.

He was an aberration, as far as Magic was concerned. A threat to his—and Magic's—survival.

Neville was happy that meeting the man at Hogwarts had not happened, apart from suppers.

The Magic he could sense was not the only thing recorded in the notebook, however, as Neville's observation of people was constant.

He had recorded liars, cheaters, lovers, friendships, enmities, auras and anything else he had believed to be of importance.

For instance, he knew that Tracey Davis of Slytherin and Susan Bones of Hufflepuff were currently dating but that they both wanted it secret, Tracey due to the shame from dating a Hufflepuff and Susan due to homophobia in her friend group.

He also knew that Fred and George Weasley had set up various illegal betting pools in order to gain money for a joke shop and that some of them were rigged in their favors (including which ones and how).

He even knew such information as that concerning popular playboy Cedric Diggory, a Hufflepuff boy who had been courting Cho Chang of Ravenclaw and also actively fucking Katie Bell of Gryffindor.

Anything Neville knew, Neville wrote. Anything Neville investigated, Neville explained.

Interestingly, this included several significant changes in the Magics inside Hogwarts as Neville had also recorded those.

First of all had been the appearance of several unusual auras. Luna Lovegood, of Ravenclaw, may have looked crazy to most, but Neville knew. Her magic was bright; brighter than he'd ever seen at least, at it drew him to her like a moth to a flame. What she said often did not make sense to the simple minds around Neville, but they were often filled with meanings he eventually learned to understand. She was pure and good, following her heart and her Magic.

Her Magic felt Right and enticing in ways he hadn't felt with the others.

He'd done everything to become friends with her because she had sparked the third emotion in him, right after Survival and Magic. For once, he had cared about a person and not an idea. For once, he had let himself be one of the irrational few.

But there was something deceptively orderly and rational behind the irrationality that was Luna Lovegood, and it calmed him. Her aura was enticing, and he felt himself want to be near it despite himself, but there was rationality about it, one that he hadn't learned but that was still present.

And so he let it sweep him into her sphere.

Plus, she had honestly been the nicest person he'd ever met.

The closest Neville had ever come to cursing his grandmother had been when she made a distinctly negative comment about the Lovegood family.

Neville did not always understand what it is he saw in auras, or why he felt the things he did (irrational, his brained screamed at times), but he did understand that he needed that feeling of Rightness and Magic that he sometimes perceived.

That now he had found in Luna. Whose aura grew brighter and lighter every day.

Despite this, Luna hadn't been the only change, however.

Draco Black had also come back significantly changed from the holidays in his second year.

Previously, his aura had been very similar to his father's and he had been, in simple terms, a bully. Draco Malfoy had been a petty bully who took pride in hurting others to show himself as a better.

Following the brutal murder of his father, however, the boy had changed. His aura had gotten much more Dark, pure, inching closer and closer to Lord Greengrass' own aura.

Unlike Luna's it hadn't started feeling Right, and it still wasn't anywhere as strong as Luna's, but it had been getting very close to becoming Right, and that was something Neville's calculative mind had not seen coming.

He hadn't been drawn to it like he was drawn to Luna's, but he did feel a pull and he could see other's auras and Magics feeling attracted to the Black Heir's own growing Dark aura.

Similarly, Ron Weasley "The Traitor" and Hermione Granger "The Icy Mudblood" both underwent changes regarding their Magic and auras.

Ron's had been of the light to start with, but it had also been extremely faint, despite his magic's obvious strength. Over time it had grown exponentially brighter due, in part, to his friendship with the young Black, becoming more and more similar to Luna's, although Neville doubted he would ever be as perfect. It seemed that Ron hadn't noticed yet but the redhead had been slowly getting pulled towards Luna just as Neville had been at the beginning.

The boy was an extrovert after all and a smart one, so his interactions with Luna would not have seemed odd to anyone else, but Neville had seen their magics interacting and, afterward, how Ron's aura kept pulling him back towards her.

Ron had been getting increasingly more in tune with his own magic, so he would eventually notice, of that Neville had no doubt. Hopefully, however, he would also realize that his interest in Luna was not a romantic one.

Merlin knows that if that continued it could cause significant problems with the rest of the Slytherin Triumvirate. The last time Draco Black and Hermione Granger had shown their anger, it had not ended well and five of the students affected were still lodging at St Mungo's if he remembered correctly.

Hermione had been a blank slate. She had had magic, and it had definitely been strong, but it had just been blank.

That in itself was not odd. Most of the muggle-borns that arrived at Hogwarts were the same, save for Dean Thomas who had a bit of lightness (Neville strongly suspected Dean wasn't as muggle-born as he believed).

It had been, however, extremely surprising to him when he saw her at the World Cup this past summer, for her aura had suddenly gotten very Dark. He'd expected her to go towards the lighter side, in part due to the supposed alliances of the dark, and in part due to how she'd admired Albus Dumbledore.

Her odd friendship with Draco Black should have clued Neville in as it proved that she wasn't the same person he'd met back on the train, but he had still been blindsided—a rare occurrence in Neville's life.

This was why he was currently looking towards the Slytherin table, waiting for the arrival of the two schools competing for the Triwizard Tournament. It was curious, Neville thought, because their magic seemed alight with excitement in ways that spiked so much it was hard to believe that the excitement had anything to do with the Triwizard Tournament.

Almost like something was coming that no one else knew.

It was then, as he attempted to read the trio's lips, that Neville sensed _them._

Right outside the entrance doors, two people of extreme Darkness were standing. Surrounding them various other auras were reveling in being around such Darkness, supplementing their own.

And, amongst all the Dark, one fairly Light and bright aura, almost as entrancing as Luna's, but more subdued and almost sexual in nature seemed to call out to him and others.

It was thus with newfound curiosity that Neville Longbottom, failure of Gryffindor and the main target of Bullies began to pay much more attention to Hogwarts' visitors than he would have thought beforehand.

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Hogwarts Great Hall, 6:15 pm.

Luna Lovegood's magic sang.

It wasn't the type of singing that came with being around an Umbugular Slashkilter, such as felt when her father had visited Cornelius Fudge, nor was it the type that just told her things through her friends the Nargles.

It wasn't either the warm fuzzy singing she felt when she was with her Neville, or the boisterous joy she had recently been feeling with dear Ronald, despite his budding Heliopath army (though really, she couldn't hold that against him, even the ministry had one).

Rather, it was the type of singing she rather thought she'd feel were she to finally find the elusive Crumple-Horned Snorkack. A feeling of contentment and fulfillment, one that made her want to sing about fate and rightness, had enveloped her.

The boy whose eyes she met in that instant was the complete antithesis of her.

Appearance wise, where her hair was blonde, his was the blackest she'd ever seen.

They were both pale, but his skin was almost translucent and white, while hers was healthy and flushed.

Where she was chaotically dressed, he was looking perfectly impeccable despite the splatters of blood on his robes (although blood looked fairly good on him, she noted).

Where she loved Life, he obviously enjoyed Death.

Where her magic was airy and light, like a spring's breeze, his was unpredictable and violent, like a tornado.

Yes, a tornado was a rather good analogy, she thought, and keeping eye contact with the boy. Tornadoes were not really a Great Britain thing, but it was a phenomenon that fascinated Luna She had asked her mother to explain them thousands of times for a reason.

He was likely both hot and cold clashing in a torrent of chaos, like the currents of air that formed a tornado, suddenly violent and chaotic, destroying everything in his path with pure enjoyment.

Her opposite.

Luna sought to create, to raise and to protect and prolong life for as long as possible. She was calm but emotional, feeling the joy in living.

He was her opposite.

But He was also, without a doubt, her Equal.

Equally insane, equally powerful, equally keen on Balance, and equally a follower of the Old Ways.

He'd be the one to balance her.

The one her mother had talked about.

Her mother had taught her about the Old before her untimely death. About balance, Lords, and the True Magicks of the past.

Despite what many thought, Pandora Lovegood hadn't died because of a backfiring spell, but rather because of her beliefs in the Old. After the war, many had associated the Old Ways with the Death Eaters.

Luna didn't resent the woman who'd killed her mother. She'd already forgiven her for the mistake, and it was part of a universal truth. Death had simply taken her mother, but there was nothing to fear.

Where there is Life, there is Death.

Where there is Death, there is Life.

She had been sad, still was even, but she had also always clung to her mother's words and beliefs.

Her mother had told her that Luna was special and that everything special had a balanced equal.

She was special, so magic would give her a counter.

She now believed, with her entire being, that he was her counter.

And he even had his second, a girl just as pale and seemingly bloodthirsty as him, just like she had her Neville. Luna was amused to note she was every bit as different and similar to Neville as Luna herself was to the boy in the bloody clothes.

Balance indeed.

Luna smiled. They were all going to be such good friends, she thought, dreamily.

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Hogwarts Hall, 6:47

"Victor. What a surprise, should I say?"

It wasn't every day that Cedric Diggory got tongue-tied over girls, but he had come dangerously close to saying gibberish when the most beautiful girl he had ever seen appeared in front of him and spoke.

French accents, he had decided on the spot, should be illegal, especially on a goddess. It did way too many things to his body, and that was unfair to him, especially when the phrase hadn't even been addressed to him.

"Fleur. Randomly appearing as always, I see," responded the famous quidditch seeker that had chosen to sit next to Cedric.

"Come on now, Victor, don't lie. You knew you'd see me here. Maman and Papa were both involved in this event just like your father, and it's not like Madame Maxime would have let me stay back at Beauxbatons. I am much too powerful after all."

"You are also much too cocky, I believe," half grunted the seeker.

"Must I really remind you how many times I have beaten you in duels?"

Cedric gawked. Despite dueling being about magic, physical attributes were generally considered very important. The idea of a frail-looking woman like Fleur beating the fairly muscular Victor Krum had thus been baffling to the blond eavesdropper.

He'd really wanted to interfere in the conversation by this point but, while he could talk to Victor Krum without problems, he was likely to still be tongue tied if he tried to speak with the beautiful woman in front of him.

The fact that she had been teasingly looking at Krum the entire time, a smug smile on her face, did not help his predicament either.

He needed to remember that he really liked Cho and that he wanted to prove it this year, despite currently having several friends with benefits.

Reacting in such a way to the woman named Fleur would definitely not endear him to Cho.

"Is it my fault if the judges are blinded by your Veela beauty?"

The Durmstrang student would probably have sounded more serious if the question hadn't been accompanied by a teasing smile.

Narrowing her eyes, Fleur responded.

"Oh please, I have always beaten you fair and square, and you know it."

Krum simply nodded in agreement, albeit faintly by Cedric's standards, before fully turning towards Fleur.

"Fine. What do you want?"

"I? I just wanted the Bouillabaisse in front of you."

Cedric decidedly made a move towards the Bouillabaisse, passing it to Fleur.

"Here, you can have it. We have several pots of it anyway," he offered with what Cedric hoped was a charming smile.

"Thank you. Before I go, Victor… We have much to catch up on."

Fleur then left right after whispering something to Krum and taking the dish with her, but Cedric kept processing the conversation, especially the last sentence.

Cedric had only partially managed to get the second part of the whisper to Victor, but he was fairly certain he'd just heard the words Old, Grindelwald, Addams, dark and blood.

He still wasn't certain what had just happened, but he was now officially curious.

He would research this, he decided.

Especially since it probably involved Victor's seat neighbors, Hadrian and Wednesday Addams.

Cedric could sense that something was off about them. They seemed much younger than the rest of the Durmstrang students but received even more respect than any of the teachers.

He should also probably tell Hadrian, after probing a bit, that he had brown sauce on his robes, from one of the French dishes. He didn't seem to have noticed yet.

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Victor Krum wasn't an idiot. He knew the blonde boy in front of him had been listening to his conversation with Fleur Delacour.

He was also fairly certain that Fleur knew as well.

But in the end that wasn't unexpected. Or rather, it was kind of planned.

Victor had known that Fleur would be curious about his sudden association with the Dark Addams, and Hadrian had wanted the Hufflepuffs and other students at Hogwarts to get curious.

Victor just didn't know how to explain his reasoning to Fleur. Well, that will just have to wait till later, he supposed.


End file.
